get them past his hips but then the elastic waistband wedged around his knees.
‘Are you sure it wasn’t your girlfriend?’
The blonde was suspicious. The flat was very tidy for a bachelor, and she had found a pair of eyebrow tweezers on the shelf in the bathroom.
Hugh was starting to feel frustrated. He’d now been single for over forty-eight hours and he was desperate to celebrate his new-found freedom. Last night the blonde had seemed up for it, flirting with him at the bar, letting him have a bit of a grope in the taxi, agreeing to come in for coffee. And then of course, when they’d got off with each other, he’d thought it was in the bag, right up until just before the grand finale, when she’d suddenly played the modesty card, saying they hardly knew each other, and he’d had to make do with a hand job. Now she wanted to lie in his bed and talk about Frankie. He hadn’t invited her back to talk , for God’s sake.
‘No, it was a friend, OK?’ he snapped impatiently.
Disgruntled, the blonde tutted sulkily and pulled the duvet tightly around her.
Realising that he wasn’t going to be celebrating anything if he wasn’t careful, Hugh quickly changed tack and kissed the end of her nose. ‘Come on, Carol. Don’t you like me?’ he whispered in his best baby-talk whine, kissing the side of her face, her neck, along her collarbone, nibbling at her ear lobe.
‘It’s Cheryl,’ pouted the blonde moodily, hanging resolutely on to the duvet.
‘I meant Cheryl,’ cooed Hugh between gritted teeth, edging himself further on top of her.
The blonde lay stiffly beneath him. Christ, this was hard work, thought Hugh, remembering the warm, easy, comfortable sex he’d enjoyed with Frankie. He stepped up his efforts. ‘Mmm, you’re just so gorgeous,’ he continued, kissing her neck, throwing in a few moans for good measure. ‘Mmmm . . . mmmm.’ Tireless in his pursuit of a shag, he was determined to hang on in there – he glanced at his watch – well, at least for another five minutes. After all, he didn’t want to be late for the office.
Luckily it didn’t take that long. Like a doctor trying to find signs of life, he suddenly felt her move ever so slightly beneath him, as if she was starting to respond to his valiant attempts at resuscitation. Feeling success at his fingertips, he increased the moans.
‘Aren’t you getting a little hot under there?’ he whispered, tugging at the duvet. She loosened her grip and, with a quick jerk as if he was a magician pulling away the tablecloth, he finally freed both the duvet and his boxer shorts and squashed his naked body triumphantly against hers.
‘I really like you, Cheryl,’ he murmured, moving in for the kill. ‘You’re just so different from other girls.’
‘I bet you say that to all the girls,’ she protested, but it was somewhat half-hearted.
‘No, it’s true, honestly. I think you’re amazing. And I’m not just saying that because I want to make love to you –’ that sounded so much better than shag – ‘because if you don’t want to make love, that’s OK.’ Just as long as you tell me now, so I can cut the crap and get ready for work.
‘Hmm, that’s what all blokes say,’ gasped the blonde as Hugh stealthily edged his fingers up her inner thighs. She was beginning to sound doubtful.
‘No, seriously, I’ve never felt like this before. It’s not as if I sleep around, you know. I’m the kind of guy that wants to be in a relationship.’
Christ, if Frankie could hear him now. There was a pause. The blonde was definitely weakening. It must have been the relationship bit that did it.
‘And I’d really like it if you and me could get to know each other better . . . a lot better.’ Lay it on with a trowel – thickly – quickly.
‘You do?’
He could almost hear the key in the lock turning. He was getting closer . . . and closer . . . Her legs were being eased apart.
‘In fact I think you’re the kind of girl I could
‘Are you sure it wasn’t your girlfriend?’
The blonde was suspicious. The flat was very tidy for a bachelor, and she had found a pair of eyebrow tweezers on the shelf in the bathroom.
Hugh was starting to feel frustrated. He’d now been single for over forty-eight hours and he was desperate to celebrate his new-found freedom. Last night the blonde had seemed up for it, flirting with him at the bar, letting him have a bit of a grope in the taxi, agreeing to come in for coffee. And then of course, when they’d got off with each other, he’d thought it was in the bag, right up until just before the grand finale, when she’d suddenly played the modesty card, saying they hardly knew each other, and he’d had to make do with a hand job. Now she wanted to lie in his bed and talk about Frankie. He hadn’t invited her back to talk , for God’s sake.
‘No, it was a friend, OK?’ he snapped impatiently.
Disgruntled, the blonde tutted sulkily and pulled the duvet tightly around her.
Realising that he wasn’t going to be celebrating anything if he wasn’t careful, Hugh quickly changed tack and kissed the end of her nose. ‘Come on, Carol. Don’t you like me?’ he whispered in his best baby-talk whine, kissing the side of her face, her neck, along her collarbone, nibbling at her ear lobe.
‘It’s Cheryl,’ pouted the blonde moodily, hanging resolutely on to the duvet.
‘I meant Cheryl,’ cooed Hugh between gritted teeth, edging himself further on top of her.
The blonde lay stiffly beneath him. Christ, this was hard work, thought Hugh, remembering the warm, easy, comfortable sex he’d enjoyed with Frankie. He stepped up his efforts. ‘Mmm, you’re just so gorgeous,’ he continued, kissing her neck, throwing in a few moans for good measure. ‘Mmmm . . . mmmm.’ Tireless in his pursuit of a shag, he was determined to hang on in there – he glanced at his watch – well, at least for another five minutes. After all, he didn’t want to be late for the office.
Luckily it didn’t take that long. Like a doctor trying to find signs of life, he suddenly felt her move ever so slightly beneath him, as if she was starting to respond to his valiant attempts at resuscitation. Feeling success at his fingertips, he increased the moans.
‘Aren’t you getting a little hot under there?’ he whispered, tugging at the duvet. She loosened her grip and, with a quick jerk as if he was a magician pulling away the tablecloth, he finally freed both the duvet and his boxer shorts and squashed his naked body triumphantly against hers.
‘I really like you, Cheryl,’ he murmured, moving in for the kill. ‘You’re just so different from other girls.’
‘I bet you say that to all the girls,’ she protested, but it was somewhat half-hearted.
‘No, it’s true, honestly. I think you’re amazing. And I’m not just saying that because I want to make love to you –’ that sounded so much better than shag – ‘because if you don’t want to make love, that’s OK.’ Just as long as you tell me now, so I can cut the crap and get ready for work.
‘Hmm, that’s what all blokes say,’ gasped the blonde as Hugh stealthily edged his fingers up her inner thighs. She was beginning to sound doubtful.
‘No, seriously, I’ve never felt like this before. It’s not as if I sleep around, you know. I’m the kind of guy that wants to be in a relationship.’
Christ, if Frankie could hear him now. There was a pause. The blonde was definitely weakening. It must have been the relationship bit that did it.
‘And I’d really like it if you and me could get to know each other better . . . a lot better.’ Lay it on with a trowel – thickly – quickly.
‘You do?’
He could almost hear the key in the lock turning. He was getting closer . . . and closer . . . Her legs were being eased apart.
‘In fact I think you’re the kind of girl I could
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